Housekeeping at Six Months

Happy six-month birthday, Milo. When you were a few weeks old I thought a lot about what it would be like when you reached six months, and how much better life would be then. For some reason I imagined six months to be this magical number, a time when you would be a real person, full of joy, a time when you would be sleeping, and a time when I would be able to wear my old clothes again. Also it would be warm and sunny, because it would be May.

For the most part, all of these things are true, except for the warm and sunny part. But while life with you is frequently wonderful, it is also unpredictable. Take last night, for example. I went to sleep thinking about all the glowing things I would write about you in the morning. Then you woke up at 2, 3, and 4 because you had managed to roll over onto your belly and wedge your head into assorted uncomfortable positions. You roll over constantly in your sleep, and have yet to figure out how to roll yourself back, which means that your father and I are frequently asking each other a question that neither one of us ever thought would need to be asked, namely: Did you flip the baby?

Pancakes need to be flipped, and matresses need to be flipped, but babies? Who knew?

You continue to be unbelievably social. You like to talk to everyone you see, and if you hear another baby talking you eagerly try to join in on the conversation. I am hoping that this will continue, and that eventually you can become the member of the household who makes all the phone calls.

Yesterday, for the first time, you showed some nervousness around a stranger. We were interviewing a babysitter, and you fussed when she picked you up and kept craning your head to make sure that Daddy and I were okay with everything. When we assured you that she wasn't going to bite you, you decided to reward her with a big smile.

You smile a lot. Things that are funny: whistling, silly noises, having your feet tickled. You like it when we put on the Milo hat and walk around the apartment. You like it when people say "where's Milo?" and pretend they can't find you anywhere. This almost always cracks you up. You also like to play with Mommy's hair, and you like to touch the washing machine instruction tags on all your toys. You have a blanket that is full of little tags, but you always manage to to find the real tag with the washing machine instructions on it - that tag is your favorite. Maybe you will grow up to own a laundromat.

Last week Daddy insisted that you said your first word: "Dada". I argued that it wasn't really your first word if you didn't know what it meant. You spent all week saying "dadadadada." Finally I pointed to Daddy and said to you, "Milo, who is this?" And you said, "aaahhhahhhaaageeedadaaaahh." That made Mommy happy, and also proved her point. You and I both know your first word will be "cat", anyway. Either that or "antidisestablishmentarianism."

You have yet to meet a food you didn't like. Yesterday Daddy ate ice cream while wearing you in the Bjorn and you acted like you were dying for a taste, although maybe you just wanted to hold the cone. Eventually we gave you a hat to hold and that seemed to satisfy you for a while.

Daddy and I are tired, but you make life interesting. I never wake up and wonder what it's all about. Partially because I no longer have time and I'm too tired to think big thoughts. But partially because I just wake up excited to see what you're going to do today.